


A Beautiful View

by huffinglepuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Desi Harry Potter, Enemies to Lovers but make it fast, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogsmeade Dates, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Like, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romantic Fluff, Shopping, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), but like, eighth year, really fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29071782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffinglepuff/pseuds/huffinglepuff
Summary: Draco asks Harry to the Ball that's been arranged to distract everyone from the fact that, despite participating in a war, school must go on.Based off the prompt “We could…y’know…go together, if you wanted.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this in September, promised that I'd continue it, ignored it for four months, and then wrote it in lockdown pt...3, I think.
> 
> A huge thank you to [etymolodrarry](https://etymolo-drarry-ig.tumblr.com/) for editing <3

Harry sighed and slouched further into the sofa, glowering at the fire sending flickering light across the dark room. The Hogwarts faculty had announced a Yule celebration next month, and Harry  _ should _ be excited about it, but all the announcement had done was put him in a mood. The ball was supposed to be a reward for their ‘inter–house cooperation,’ though everyone knew it was just an effort to boost spirits that had dropped once the students got used to  _ ‘life as normal’ _ —complete with actual lessons—but they still bought the bait. Since the announcement was made at breakfast, the school was a flurry of excitement as the students discussed who they were going to ask to the ball. If this wasn’t bad enough, they’d also had to suffer through the embarrassment of dance lessons  _ again _ —and this time, instead of Ron,  _ Harry  _ had been chosen to waltz with McGonagall. Harry was quite sure the blush  _ still  _ hadn’t faded from his face.

Finding someone to go with was compulsory, to Harry’s dismay, and while he would have  _ loved _ to just flip off the press and sit in the corner, sulking, he knew that it would really be for the benefit of everyone if he just sucked it up and dealt with it for a night. 

Besides, it shouldn’t be  _ that _ difficult for him to find a partner. Both girls and boys had been throwing themselves at him since the beginning of term, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want someone going with him just because he was the saviour, and he  _ certainly  _ didn’t want to be fawned over all night. He just wanted to—

“Is being chased after by every witch and wizard in the school really  _ that  _ tiring, Potter?”

Harry sighed again, but he didn’t move from his position, despite being increasingly aware of the double chin he was  _ definitely  _ sporting. “What are you doing down here, Malfoy?”

“It’s everyone’s common room, Potter, not just yours. Although we all know that’s what you’d prefer.”

“What, a little time to myself? Yeah, I would, thanks.”

Rather than taking the hint, Harry heard Malfoy flop onto a sofa nearby. Harry struggled upright, and found himself frozen in surprise. 

Since coming back to Hogwarts as the only eighth year Slytherin, Malfoy had rather kept to himself. Though he was always perfectly groomed—hardly a hair out of place, even without the copious amounts of gel he used to use—he looked softer, in a way, with fewer pointy edges; though that might have had to do with his tendency to blend into the background. Now, though, he was in a white t–shirt and green flannel pyjama bottoms, and his hair was unkempt, straying into his eyes. Harry had to suppress the urge to walk across the room and tuck the strands behind his ears. Draco watched him warily, eyes half shut, as if he’d just come from his bedroom.

“Did you have a nightmare, or something?” Harry asked, cursing himself as Malfoy stiffened.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Malfoy’s tone was suddenly posher, his words carefully clipped. 

Harry shook his head. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like…anything, really. I get them, sometimes, you see, and I guess I just assumed…” Harry kept his shoulders relaxed, fighting the urge to flee from such vulnerability. Why was he saying this? In front of  _ Malfoy _ , of all people? He hadn’t so much as  _ talked  _ to him since he’d given Malfoy his wand back; yet here he was, spilling his secrets—they might not have been his  _ deepest  _ secrets, but they certainly weren’t something he’d willingly talk about, even to Ron and Hermione. 

After a long silence (during which Harry seriously considered jumping out of the window and sprinting away) Malfoy finally responded in a small voice, “I get them too.”

Harry’s first instinct was to reply,  _ that’s fun, _ but somehow he didn’t think that would be well received. “I’m still up because I’m stressed about the Ball.”

Malfoy huffed a laugh at that. “A  _ ball? _ You defeated the Dark Lord, I’m sure you’ll survive the ball.”

“I’m not scared I’m not going to  _ survive  _ it, I just…I don’t know how I’m going to find someone to go with.”

“Potter—” Malfoy cut himself off laughing. “You, not find—oh, that’s rich.”

“What?”

“The entire Hogwarts population is after you! Literally  _ anyone  _ would be honoured to go with the  _ Chosen One.” _

“That’s the problem though! I don’t want to be  _ ‘the Chosen One’, _ I just want to be…I just want to be  _ Harry. _ And all these people asking me out…I could never be myself. They’d likely just go straight to the press about how I stepped on their toes.”

“That’s true. I certainly would.” Harry glared at Malfoy, who raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’d be under no allusions of you being perfect—quite the opposite, actually. In any case, I’ve got the opposite problem. Do you really think anyone would be willing to go out with a  _ Death Eater?” _

“Why not? You’re perfectly attracti—” Harry snapped his mouth shut, wincing as he felt his teeth  _ clack  _ together. Malfoy was staring at Harry with wide, grey eyes, that glowed silver in the flickering firelight. 

“The great  _ Harry Potter _ thinks I’m attractive?” Malfoy said incredulously, and Harry threw a cushion at him.

“Objectively.”

“Shame no one else thinks so. Looks like I’m just going to sit in the corner…alone…”

Harry felt like he was missing a hint when Malfoy leaned forwards and stared at him. After Harry stared back at him with equally wide eyes, Malfoy sighed and leaned back again, a blush rising on his pale cheeks.

“We could…” Whatever Draco was thinking was lost as he trailed off.

“We could what?”

“We could…y’know…go together, if you wanted.” Malfoy said quietly, now staring at the fireplace. “Never mind, it was a stupid idea, I just—”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, it’s a stupid idea? Real nice, Potter.”

“No, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” 

_ I really do have a death wish, _ Harry thought. “I will. But only if you call me Harry.”

“If I what?”

“Call me Harry.  _ Draco.” _

Malfoy stared at him for a moment with one eyebrow raised, before finally sighing and saying “Fine. Harry.”

Harry grinned, suddenly feeling excited. He slapped his thighs before standing up. “Wanna go to Hogsmeade together on Saturday?”

“I—what?”

“See you in the entrance hall at…9?”

“I didn’t say yes?”

“See you then!”

* * *

Draco really didn’t know what he was doing, standing in the entrance hall at quarter to nine. He’d woken up at half past five and simply could  _ not  _ fall asleep again—not when he was nothing but a bundle of nerves in anticipation of the date that  _ he still had not agreed to _ . In fact, until yesterday evening, he’d been quite sure that it had been a joke, until Harry grabbed Draco’s arm as he’d been walking out of the hall. Harry’s lips had pressed against his ear and Draco shivered slightly as Harry’s breathless voice caused all his blood to flow  _ down.  _ Draco had been so distracted he’d almost missed the whispered  _ “don’t forget our date tomorrow.” _ He’d hurried back to his room with his trousers a little too tight—not that he wore them loose by any means—and launched himself onto his bed to scream into his pillow.

He was going on a date.

He was going on a date  _ with Harry Potter. _

_ Harry Potter _ had asked him on a  _ date. _

This morning, he perhaps should have been grateful that he’d woken up so early, since it had taken him a solid hour to choose what to wear. It was late October, and the weather had been taking a turn for the worse, in Draco’s opinion. A quick _ tempestas hodiae  _ had displayed the day’s weather report in glowing letters—it was supposed to be dry and windy with a clear sky—which meant it would be bitterly cold. On the bright side, no rain.

After emptying his entire wardrobe, Draco finally decided on a pair of trousers with warming charms woven in (that just so happened to be quite tight and showed off his arse particularly well), and a pale blue jumper. After his mirror assured him that he looked great—like it did with all of his outfits—he pocketed some money and headed down to the entrance hall, too nervous to eat. He was early, but it wouldn’t do to be tardy, in any case. 

Harry arrived five minutes early, and seemed surprised to see Draco there already. A witty comment about the state of his hair died in Draco’s throat as he took Harry in. He was wearing muggle clothes—tight, blue jeans that showed off his thighs, muscled from quidditch, and a…jumper, of sorts, that had shoelaces dangling from the hood. On anyone else, Draco would have likely made a snide comment, but the way it showed off his broad shoulders, and how his green eyes sparkled as he smirked at Draco, running a hand through his hair that looked less like a birds nest and more like someone had slammed him against a wall, running a tongue along his lower lip and hands tracing muscles down his back, fingertips slipping below the waistband of his jeans…

Draco was abruptly aware of how his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Harry ran an eye over Draco’s own outfit, his smirk widening. “You look good.”

“I  _ always  _ look good,” Draco replied, more from habit than any conscious thought. “You look good too.”  _ I sound like a caveman, _ he thought, hoping that perhaps his natural charm would hide how much of an idiot he was around Potter.

“Glad to hear it.” Harry grinned, a flash of white teeth. “Shall we go, then?”

“Yes, yes we should.” Draco allowed Harry to take his hand—not that he would have been able to protest, given how his mind appeared to be concentrating with spear–like focus on Harry’s hair and the fantasy it had cooked up about kissing him. 

The walk to Hogsmeade took almost no time, small talk passing between them before Harry let it drift into silence. Draco was getting increasingly flustered, and had considered letting Harry’s hand go more than once under the guise of it being too warm for that; except Draco’s hand was ice–cold, despite how sweaty his palms were, and Harry was like a portable oven. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Harry asked, as they walked ( _ still hand in hand! _ Draco’s brain provided excitedly) down the cobbled street.

“No, n–not really.” 

Harry steered him into The Three Broomsticks, and Draco melted in the warmth. He almost didn’t see the glares of the people around him. Right, he’d almost forgotten—he was a Death Eater, and certainly wasn’t welcome here.

“Just find us a table, and I’ll grab us something to eat. Breakfast wraps okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Draco replied, not quite sure what a breakfast wrap was. He looked around the room nervously. It wasn’t particularly full, but people were evenly spaced around the room, meaning Draco couldn’t find a table far away from the other patrons. 

He eventually settled in a booth in the back corner, two tables away from the nearest person and mostly out of sight from everyone. He applauded his excellent decision making, until a large man started to approach. 

“What’re you doing here?” The man asked in a low voice.

“Just waiting for my—”  _ Shit.  _ Was Harry his friend? They weren’t boyfriends, to Draco’s knowledge. And perhaps coming out as gay to this man wouldn’t be the  _ best  _ idea. “—friend to bring us drinks.”

“And what makes you and your  _ friend  _ think that Death Eater scum are allowed here?”

“Well, for one thing, my friend isn’t a Death Eater. He’s rather the  _ opposite, _ actually.”

The man laughed—a great, booming laugh that made Draco flinch in his seat. He was out of sight here, which meant anything this man did would remain unseen. Draco was a good dueller—an  _ excellent  _ dueller, actually—but if he got his wand taken off him, there was nothing stopping him from getting beaten to a pulp. The man, finally having stopped laughing, fixed his beady eyes on Draco. “I doubt you could get any friends that  _ are  _ Death Eaters, never mind  _ normal  _ people. Who’s your friend, anyway,  _ Harry Potter?/” _

_ “Yes, _ actually,” a voice said, and Draco stifled a laugh as the man spun, almost overturning a nearby table. “Is there a problem with that?” Harry asked in a bland voice.

The man frowned at Harry for a moment, before dismissing him and pointing a fat, meaty finger at Draco. “You used the Imperius on  _ Harry Potter? _ Oh, this will get you a few good years in Azkaban. Hopefully a life sentence.”

“I will have you know,” Harry said slowly, ice coating his every word as he took a step towards the man who, to Draco’s satisfaction, took a step to the side, “that I can  _ throw off  _ the Imperius Curse quite easily. And I don’t take kindly to people accusing my friends of crimes they haven’t committed.”

The man backed a few steps from their booth as he spoke. “Are you sure, Mr. Potter, sir, that he hasn’t—”

It would have been quite funny to see such a physically imposing man almost cowering from Harry, a relatively short eighteen year old, had it not been for the fire in Harry’s eyes, the anger etched into every muscle of his face.

“I am  _ quite  _ sure.” Harry was gripping his wand, and Draco felt a bolt of fear course through him. This was the man who’d defeated the  _ Dark Lord, _ after all—certainly no easy feat—and Draco had seen a glimpse of how powerful a wizard Harry was.

He stood and gently murmured into Harry’s ear, “Harry, it was just a misunderstanding. Don’t worry about it. Come on, sit down, have some food.”

Harry blinked once, and then again, before turning to Draco. He appeared to have calmed down, but his eyes still burned with anger. “But he—”

_ “It’s okay.  _ Come on, let’s not let him ruin our date.” Draco made sure his voice was quiet enough to not let the man hear, who was watching them both in fear.

Harry sighed, his anger dissipating in a breath. “Okay.”

Draco smiled, gently tugging Harry’s wrist so he sat down in the booth, before sitting opposite. At some point, Harry had put two plates of food and two mugs of steaming tea onto the table, and Draco felt like he could inhale it all—he was  _ starving. _ Nothing like being threatened to boost one’s appetite. 

“You can go now, you know.” Draco jumped at the cool words from Harry, before he remembered the man, who was still cowering in the corner.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he hurried past the table, and straight out of the door, throwing a few coins onto his table, which had a half–finished pint of beer, as he passed.

_ “‘Sorry’,  _ he says,” Harry muttered under his breath, angrily pouring ketchup onto a plate.

“Harry, are you okay?” Draco asked.

“Of  _ course  _ not!  _ Why  _ would I be alright when there are people acting like  _ that—” _

Draco gently placed his hand on Harry’s wrist. “You can rant all you want, but I think that’s a little too much ketchup.”

Harry looked at Draco seriously, his mouth a hard line. “You can  _ never  _ have too much ketchup.” He then looked down in surprise and hurriedly turned the ketchup bottle upright—he’d started putting it beside his wrap, but at some point the ketchup in the glass bottle had started pouring properly and now he was left with a pool of ketchup that took up half of his plate. “Would you like some ketchup?”

Draco laughed, and scraped some onto his own plate. He gingerly picked up the ‘breakfast wrap’, which contained two sausages, a piece of bacon, a hash brown, and an egg, and was covered in grease. He watched Harry dip his own wrap into the ketchup and followed suit. To Draco’s surprise, it tasted quite good.

They didn’t talk until they’d finished their wraps. Draco delicately wiped his fingers, which were covered in grease and a bit of ketchup _ —if only father could see me now— _ before looking up to see Harry doing the same, apparently oblivious to the dollop of ketchup on the corner of his mouth. 

“Harry, you’ve got something just…” Draco pointed to the corner of his own mouth, and Harry wiped at it with his thumb, only to smear it further up his cheek. Draco rolled his eyes and reached over to catch the smear of ketchup on his own thumb. Harry had stopped breathing, for a moment, and watched Draco with laser focus as he pulled his hand away. Hoping he’d read the situation right, Draco slowly licked the side of his thumb to clean it, rather than wiping it on the napkin, and smirked slightly as Harry’s eyes remained focused on his lips. Apparently he wasn’t as hopeless at this flirting thing as he thought.

* * *

“You want to go outside?” Draco asked, draining the last of his coffee. Harry’s eyes flicked up to meet Draco’s, and Draco’s face heated slightly at the lust plainly written there. Harry nodded and placed some coins on the table before Draco could even reach for his pocket, before linking his fingers with Draco’s and stepping out into the cold, winter air. 

Harry appeared to have a destination in mind, but Draco didn’t know where it was, as he marched past most of the shops, towards the small woods at the end of the street. He slowed down as they reached the trees, finally stopping as they reached a bench at the side of the path. 

They both sat on the bench in an awkward silence, Draco wracking his brain for something to say. The only other date he’d ever been on was with Pansy in fifth year, which had resulted in both of them coming out to each other as gay. Draco knew of the general stance of the public on gay people, which wasn’t all that bad, but in the pureblood community it was looked down on, as gay people couldn’t birth heirs to keep the line going. However, it was perfectly fine to be gay on the  _ side  _ of the marriage. 

Their hands were still linked, Draco realised with a start, and he began concentrating very hard on not moving his fingers, in case Harry thought he didn’t want to hold hands. He did, but he was also finding that he didn’t happen to be very good at the whole  _ ‘dating’ _ stuff. 

“You know, we don’t actually know that much about each other,” Harry said, facing a tree opposite the path.

“You’d think, after over six years of obsessively watching each other, we would.”

“I mean, I know your eating habits, and that you’re left handed and stuff but…I don’t know other things. Like your favourite colour.”

“Green.” Draco immediately said, and then mentally kicked himself. Because  _ now  _ Harry would want to know why.

“Why? Because you’re Slytherin?”

_ Just say yes.  _ “No.”

“Then?” Harry prompted.

Draco sighed. “Because it’s the colour of your eyes,” he muttered, staring at the floor, hoping Harry hadn’t heard.

Harry exhaled loudly in what might be considered a half–laugh. “Mine’s light blue.”

“You can’t just say that and then not say why.”

Harry turned to face Draco, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Do you remember that suit you wore to the Yule Ball?”

Draco snorted. He’d worn a pastel blue suit to the Ball, which really  _ did  _ suit his skin tone. “So we’ve both been idiots who’ve liked their rivals for a long time.”

“I wouldn’t say  _ idiots. _ About me, anyway.” Harry raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. “Personally, I think I have  _ excellent _ taste.”

“Out of the two of us, you are  _ clearly  _ the far more idiotic one, Harry.” 

“You know, the insult doesn’t carry much weight when you don’t stick your signature  _ Potter  _ on the end.”

“Well how can I call you Potter while you’re looking at me like  _ that?”  _

“I guess I see your point,” Harry said softly, staring dreamily at Draco’s lips again. Harry’s eyes traced the movement of Draco licking his lips, his eyes widening when Draco caught them between his teeth.

Harry made a small noise in the back of his throat, biting his own lip as he looked into Draco’s eyes again. “I think I’d like to kiss you.”

Perhaps, in another lifetime, Draco would have thought the admission a weakness, but he had no inhibitions when he replied, “I think I’d like to kiss you, too.”

Before he’d even finished his sentence, Harry had thrown his arms around Draco’s neck, lips crashing into Draco’s. Surprised, Draco threw a hand out behind him so he didn’t hit his back on the arm of the bench, before throwing his other arm around Harry and opening his mouth slightly to dart his tongue along Harry’s lips. Harry sat back slightly, so Draco could sit up, and they were still kissing, because  _ oh Merlin I’m kissing Harry Potter and this should never end. _

They kissed for a while, Harry’s hands running through Draco’s hair and  _ messing it up, _ but Draco didn’t care because he finally got to run his own hands through Harry’s hair (as soft as he’d imagined) and down Harry’s back (and _ damn, _ that glimpse he’d gotten of Harry after quidditch had  _ not  _ been a trick of the light) and he’d even slipped his fingers under Harry’s jeans, once or twice.

After a while, they pulled apart, to Draco’s dismay, although he did enjoy looking at his handiwork, Harry’s eyes were slightly glazed over, his lips red and slightly swollen from the kissing. His hoodie was rumpled—even though it pretty much looked the same—and his hair was sticking up more then usual. Draco ran a hand through his own hair, trying to tidy it up and failing to keep the wide grin off his face. 

“That was…” Harry didn’t seem to know how to describe it, and neither did Draco.

“Yeah. We should do that again sometime.” They both started laughing, which quickly trailed off as they continued to stare at each other.

* * *

At some point in their walk, Harry had managed to drag Draco into the single charity shop in Hogsmeade. Draco had been adamantly against it—Malfoys do not go in  _ second–hand shops,  _ for Merlin’s sake—but Harry batted his eyes and pulled the corners of his mouth down slightly, which is apparently all it took to melt Draco’s adamant resolve.

Harry waved a neon–pink dress, with sequins and  _ extreme _ ruffles in Draco’s face. “You should wear this to the ball—you’d look  _ amazing.” _

Draco raised an eyebrow, and cast his eye around the shop, before pulling out a pair of bright–green velvet leggings. “Not as great as you’d look in  _ these.” _

Harry pulled one of the legs against his own and grinned. “They’d really bring out my eyes, wouldn’t they?”

“If you want to look like a leprechaun, that’s fine by me, but you’ll have to find a new date.”

Harry pouted and put them back. He hummed along to the 70s music playing as he wandered out, pulling out hideous clothes and draping them over his arm. Not one to be outdone, Draco responded in kind, until they both had large piles of clothes, laden with sequins and sparkles.

They ended up at the changing rooms—Draco couldn’t decide whether or not it was a good thing that there were two—and gave each other their piles of clothes.

“This? Really?” Draco grimaced, holding up a pastel green waistcoat, with intricate swirls made of golden sequins and pearlescent beads. “Even  _ I _ couldn’t pull this off.”

“I don’t know, the cool tones would really compliment your skin, don’t you think? And we both know I can’t pull off neon orange,” Harry added, holding out a pair of biking shorts between his thumb and forefinger.

Draco smirked. “I don’t know, the hideously bright tones would really compliment your skin.”

“Come on.” Harry rolled his eyes and ducked into a changing room.

Draco went into the second one, ensuring the curtains were pulled shut before examining what Harry had picked out. He held up a few pieces up, trying to gauge how they’d look in the mirror, before deciding on the least terrible thing in the pile—a black dress that was quite loose (easily corrected, Draco thought, shrinking it until it was only just decent), with silvery dragons and flowers all over that shimmered under the light—and a pair of one–inch sparkly silver heels. 

He strutted out of the stall at the exact moment Harry  _ fell _ out of his changing room. Apparently, he’d decided to try on the six-inch stilettos Draco had put in his pile—although he  _ did _ look very attractive in the reflective, silver heels, peeking out of violently purple robes.

“Why did you give me  _ these? _ I gave you such  _ nice _ heels, and…” Harry trailed off as he looked up, and slowly examined Draco’s outfit.  _ “Fuck.” _

“I know.” Draco smirked and did a little twirl. “I have to say, those robes aren’t doing it for me, but the shoes…”

“Are  _ impossible _ to walk in.” Harry grumbled.

“Bullshit.” Draco kicked off his heels. “Come on, give them here.”

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to balance on one foot, which resulted in him tipping over and landing in Draco’s arms. 

“We  _ are _ wizards, you know?” Draco chucked, levitating Harry in the air so he could take the shoes off. Harry promptly threw them at Draco’s head.

“Well that was rude,” Draco sniped, pulling on the heels. Apparently, all those years he’d spent walking around in his mothers heels had paid off, he reflected, as he didn’t so much as wobble.

“How the  _ fuck,” _ Harry asked.

“I guess some of us are just made for looking  _ damn  _ good,” Draco replied, checking himself out in the mirror. The heels looked  _ amazing. _ If only his father could see him now…

Harry mumbled something under his breath, and Draco raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t hear you.” 

Harry coughed, his cheeks bright red. “You’re not wrong.” 

Draco grinned and bent down to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’m never wrong.”

“I wouldn’t go  _ that _ far…” Harry muttered, and then snickered as Draco hit his head on the bar that held up the curtain.

Draco discreetly purchased the dress before they left the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote a lot more than this originally but it didn't fit with the general ~vibe~ of the fic so I'll probably put it in a different one. I hope you enjoy this extra short bit :)

_ “Why  _ are we sitting outside?” Draco whined, for what must have been the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

Harry looked at him, mildly offended. “Are my warming charms not  _ good enough _ for you?” He let a little more magic into the charm for effect.

“Obviously not, but also my arse is  _ damp.” _

Harry laughed. “Your arse isn’t my concern.”

“It will be when you see the trousers I’m wearing to the Ball.”

“Such confidence.” Harry could almost hear Draco say  _ of course I have confidence, have you  _ _ seen  _ _ me? _ “So…what are you wearing? It wouldn’t do for us to clash, after all.”

“Well, I actually had a few ideas…” Draco summoned a book out of seemingly nowhere and handed it to Harry. It was about three inches thick, and  _ filled _ with glossy photos of dress robes, muggle suits, and other unfamiliar garments.

“This is a  _ few?  _ How long have you been planning this?”

“A week, maybe?”

“You did all of this in a  _ week?” _

Draco shrugged. “I was motivated. So…what do you think?”

Harry traced one of the unfamiliar garments with his finger. It appeared to be a button–up dress, of sorts; it came down to the model's knee, and was made of dark green…silk, maybe? There was a red and gold pattern around the cuffs and collar, and down the middle there was piping and buttons with the same pattern. Under the dress, the model was wearing relaxed, dark red trousers and shoes with the pattern. “I love it.”

“Do you know what that is?” Draco asked, pointing to the dress–thing Harry’s finger was still on.

Harry shook his head.

“The overcoat is called a sherwani—it’s worn over a kurta—and the bottom is called churidar—it’s a traditional indian dress that’s worn for formal occasions in the winter. I know you don’t know much about your dad’s heritage, but I thought you’d maybe like to wear something from his—your—culture.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but found himself overcome with emotion. No one had ever attempted to even bring up his indian heritage, and yet here Draco was, giving him what he didn’t even know he wanted.

“Harry? Are you okay?” Draco asked gently, and Harry threw himself at Draco, sobbing into his sweater.

“Thank you,” Harry said between sobs.

“Of course, love,” Draco replied, stroking Harry’s back.

After Harry got his emotions under control—which took a  _ while— _ he sat up. “Now both your shoulder and your arse are wet.”

Draco snorted. “Ah, well, I think I can live with it.”

“Where would I get one of the—what did you call them?”

“Sherwani?”

“Yeah.”

“I have some contacts. Tell me which one you want, I’ll buy it for you.” Harry started to protest, but Draco shook his head. “Consider it a Christmas present.”

Harry forced his mouth into a pout, even as his heart soared.

~

Harry’s outfit had arrived the day before the Ball. Harry had been slightly terrified, opening it; what if it was difficult to put on? What if he put it on  _ wrong? _ He wanted to take a piece of his culture into the Ball, to show it proudly, but what if he presented it in a way that could be construed as offensive?

He needn’t have worried, though—a small packet had been included with information about the origin of the outfit, how and when it’s been worn throughout the ages,  _ and _ how it was worn. Harry wondered whether it was included with all outfits, or if Draco, the insufferably thoughtful and generous prick had known Harry would need some help.

Harry quickly leafed through the short booklet, before examining the clothes. He hadn’t asked for a particular sherwani, asking Draco to surprise him—so Draco had bought him one that was mostly charcoal, with green and silver at the collar and cuffs, to be paired with green churidar and silver slip–on shoes that curled up at the toes.

Harry rolled his eyes at the Slytherin colours, but, well, he was supposed to be promoting inter–house unity; and what better than to wear his ‘rival’s’ house colours? And he had to admit, once he’d pulled on the clothes and looked in the mirror, the green accents really  _ did _ bring out his eyes. He halfheartedly tried to flatten his hair, before going to Hermione.

“Oh, Harry! You look wonderful,” Hermione said, beckoning him into her room. There weren’t the same restrictions in the eighth year rooms as there had been in the Gryffindor tower, to Ron’s delight—something about them being ‘trustworthy’. Harry privately thought that the teachers simply couldn’t be bothered to put up the wards.

“As do you, Hermione. I was wondering if you could do something with…” He trailed off, pointing at his head.

“I don’t think you want it slicked down, like mine, but a bit of mousse wouldn’t go amiss…”

_ Moose? _ Harry thought as she rootled through a box overflowing with hair products. 

She pumped a dollop of white foam into her hand, and pointed to a stool in front of a dressing table. Harry sat obediently, and watched in the mirror as she rubbed the mousse into his hair, turning it from a veritable birds nest into an untameable mass of curls. 

“There you go. Unless you want a bit of makeup?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the eyeliner flicking out from the corners of her eyes.

Harry considered. “Maybe a little wouldn’t hurt,” he said, immediately regretting his words when a devilish smirk appeared across Hermione’s face.

~

Draco grinned as Harry walked through the entrance to the Great Hall. It had been thoroughly transformed; the tables had been removed, and small, circular tables were dotted around the edge of the Hall. Gauzy, white drapes hung from the stone walls, and despite the cloudy weather outside, the Hall was illuminated by bright, shimmering stars, as well as any  _ lumos _ would. At one end of the Hall, the floor had been covered by shining wood, where a few couples already twirled around in time to the music coming from the small band in the corner. 

He quickly moved through the crowd—even with the bottom four years missing, the room was packed—until he was in front of Harry. He bowed, swiftly taking Harry’s hand and pressing a kiss to it.

“May I have this dance?” He asked, not fully rising. 

The smirk was almost wiped off his face when he took Harry in; but before he had the chance to fully take him in, Harry grinned and said “sure.”

“Always so eloquent,” Draco said, leading him to the dance floor.

“Only for you, darling,” Harry replied, placing a hand on Draco’s waist.

_ “Darling,  _ am I?”

“Would you prefer another pet name? Love? Honey?”

“Darling works.”

Harry laughed, and Draco took the moment to fully drink him in. The clothes fit like a glove, complimenting his caramel skin and making his eyes sparkle. His hair had some sort of product in it, waves of jet–black curls falling on his forehead and almost completely obscuring his scar. His skin shimmered under the starlight, and his eyes stood out even more with the eyeliner.

“You look…beautiful,” Draco whispered, easily leading Harry around the dance floor. “Your dancing has improved as well.”

Harry smiled, bemused. “You don’t look so bad yourself. And you’ve never even danced with me before!”

“I saw you at the Yule Ball, though,” Draco pointed out, and Harry dropped his head against Draco’s shoulder, the back of his neck turning bright red. “We all saw.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groaned.

“Hey, you’re making up for it now! As long as you don’t get make–up on my new dress robes.”

Harry grinned, letting go of Draco’s waist for a moment and swiping his fingers across his cheekbones, before wiping them on Draco’s nose.

_ “Hey!” _ Draco protested, as Harry snickered.

“Your nose is sparkly.”

“I’d return the favour, but you look too pretty.”

Harry smiled again, and Draco stared, memorising very detail, every little scar and freckle. 

It was the most beautiful view he could wish for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Erm this is my [tumblr](https://huffinglepuff.com/) which mostly consists of me reblogging drarry and wolfstar content :)
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life, if you want to leave one!


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